An Old Man from the Old World by Jack Echs Copyright © 2001 Nick stirred the ice in his glass with his finger as he sat thinking. He couldn't quite figure out what bothered him about Raffaello's death. Downtown he had read the coroner's report over not just once, but twice: accidental death due to an allergic reaction. Holly Cole had begun to sing about Christmas blues when the bartender reappeared, pointing at his empty glass. He gave her an affirmative nod before slipping back into his thoughts. A fresh drink appeared before him, a candy cane poking out above the rim. "What's this?" Nick asked pointing at his drink. "Peppermint to liven your drink," the bartender replied. "You look like you could use it." Nick grunted, "thanks" and stared intently at his drink, not touching it. He almost fell off his stool when he realized what had been nagging him so much. It was that damned half-eaten peppermint confection that was found in Raffaello's pocket. Raffaello was allergic to peppermint, something Nick remembered from when he first met him long ago. He would never have knowingly eaten anything with peppermint in it. Raffaello didn't die accidentally as the coroner's report said. He was murdered. Nick waved the bartender over. "Did I hear right from Mick . . . you were working the night my friend came in?" "Yes, I was." she replied. "I'm sorry to hear about your friend. He was cute and real sweet. A lot sweeter than most." "Yeah, that he was. Do you recall seeing him speaking with anyone? Anyone out of the ordinary?" "I couldn't say for sure, that was only my third night here. I still don't know all of the regulars yet. There was one guy though . . ." "What about him?" Nick asked impatiently. "Haven't seen him since and when I told Mick about him he didn't recognize him either. He was the last one your friend spoke to. He left not long after your friend did." "What'd he look like?" "Tall and thin . . . dark, greasy hair. He was wearing a black leather blazer and jeans. He sat at a table and was waited on by one of the waitresses," she replied. "Do you remember who?" "Hhmmm . . . it was Cindy I think, she's off tonight." "I got her number, thanks." Nick tossed the candy onto the bar and downed his drink before heading for the door. Once outside he pulled out his cell and punched Cindy's number. Cindy remembered the guy and told Nick that he could find him at a café not far from the bar. Cindy had seen him several times; he might even work there, she thought. Thanking her, Nick hung up and hurried down the street. Time was ticking down. Raffaello had been murdered on the fifteenth of December; Nick had less than ten days left before he had to return North for the big night. Arriving at the café, Nick found a seat where he could watch the entire place. Cindy said that the blazer was a trademark with this guy. The back was embossed with an Asian style dragon. Nick scraped the bowl of his pipe out as he watched the café's door. An hour turned into three when he finally spotted his prey. Nick rose, putting the pipe into his coat's pocket and pushed through the crowd towards the leather blazer and the man he sought. The dragon stared at him as he approached. Nick was just inches from his quarry when something familiar passed by. Turning from the man he had come for, he looked down right into the eyes of a pixyish man with Raffaello's stocking cap on his head. Beneath the stocking cap was a smirk of contempt. Looking into his face, Nick realized that he knew him. He had fired him from the workshop bakery a few years back. Seeing recognition come to Nick's face, the man suddenly turned and fled towards the door. Nick was inches behind him when he burst out the door and sped away into the darkness. He pursued his new target as fast as he could, but Nick was soon lagging behind. Passing a patrol car, Nick waved at the driver and pointed towards the left of the block up ahead. As he ran on he realized that he knew the officer driving. All he could do was pray that he would block the end of the alley as Nick had directed. The man turned down the alley as Nick had hoped, mistakenly thinking he'd be able to lose the old man in the dark. Nick had him where he wanted him. Suddenly the man went down, tripped up by something. Before he could rise, Nick was on him. Grasping his collar in one hand while pulling Raffaello's cap off with the other, he stood the man up and punched him hard in the gut forcing the air out with a gasp. Nick shoved him into the wall and pounded the punk with both of his fists in rapid concession. A flash of the patrol car's lights brought Nick back to his senses. Grabbing the man by his collar, he dragged him towards the end of the alley where the policemen waited. "Who do we have here, Nick?" The sergeant who had been driving the patrol car asked. "Sebastian Perugino. He killed a friend of mine, Raffaello St. Ives . . . poisoned him." "Why'd he do that?" "I fired him on Raffaello's recommendation. I've got to go, but I'll be back in time for his trial." "You're a saint, Nick." The sergeant spoke to Nick's back as his partner handcuffed Sebastian. Nick stopped and responded over his shoulder, "tell me about it." Turning back, he walked up the street and disappeared into the city's blinking Christmas lights. "Was that?" The younger officer asked his partner as he helped Sebastian into the patrol car. "Yep." "He's a PI too?" "How do you think he knows who's been naughty and who's been nice?"